


drop everything now

by blamefincham, thistidalwave



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Dating, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4066387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamefincham/pseuds/blamefincham, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a stupid bucket list thing!” Alex says loudly, sitting up and glaring at her. “It was <i>really easy</i> to get these tickets, okay? He could’ve done it by himself anytime!” </p><p>“Yeah,” Anna says in between bouts of laughter, “but <i>you</i> bought them. Does Brendan know you want to take him on a romantic date to fulfill one of his lifelong dreams?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	drop everything now

**Author's Note:**

> Yesterday, Jenny was complaining that there wasn’t new Gally² fic for her to read. 24 hours later, we've written this. We blame [NHL.com](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Khs2CDFrcOk&feature=youtu.be&t=46s). 
> 
> Takes place during the 2014 offseason. Title from TSwift’s “Sparks Fly” (long may she reign).

In retrospect, Alex blames everything on YouTube’s “Recommended For You” feature.

He didn’t _set out_ to watch stupid videos of his teammate at two in the morning. He started with some song that one of his friends posted to Facebook, and then YouTube suggested he watch some NHL videos. He was slightly embarrassed that most of the recommendations were his own highlight goals, but not too embarrassed to watch a few. He’s alone in his bedroom in the middle of the night, after all. Nobody here to judge him.

And then fucking YouTube suggested the stupid “Puck Personality” videos the NHL put out. They ask players from various teams about their favorite cereal or what they would do if they weren’t hockey players—or their guilty pleasure TV shows, which is definitely the best one so far, because Alex laughs his ass off at Brendan being forced to admit to the entire internet just how much he loves The Bachelor.

He reaches for his phone to send Gally a chirpy text, except then he realizes that the video was posted months ago, so that would really implicate him more than anything. 

Hindsight clearly indicates that that’s Alex’s first sign that he should get off YouTube and go to bed… but he doesn’t. He allows it to autoplay the next video instead, which is hockey players talking about their bucket lists.

A lot of them are dumb (yes, Pietrangelo, it _will_ be hard to see the seven wonders of the world considering that only one is still standing), but none as dumb as Brendan’s, in Alex’s opinion.

“I would _love_ to see a game at Fenway Park,” says Brendan on screen. “I think that—I’m a big baseball fan, too, so, uh, to go to Fenway and to watch a game—especially if they’re playing the Yankees—I think it would be a really cool atmosphere to go to.” 

Alex pauses the video to scoff. “Really, Gally?” he says under his breath. “Like, that’s the most pathetic bucket list thing ever. You’re rich. You could do that any time.”

Then he realizes he’s talking to his iPad, so he stops. He could watch the rest of the video, but—now he wants to prove the point to Brendan, who isn’t even here, that his bucket list is way too easy. He pulls up the Red Sox website, clicks through their schedule—and ha! They’re playing the Yankees in August, which is in the middle of the offseason. No problem. Brendan could _totally_ go.

There aren’t a ton of tickets left, though, it being a big rivalry game and all. Alex scrolls through them, just to see—and wow, there’s still a pair left in the front row behind the dugout, though of course they’re stupidly expensive.

Ticketmaster is counting down in the corner of his screen, telling him he has 5:42 left to buy these tickets, or they will be given away to someone else. 

He doesn’t—it’s not—he doesn’t _intend_ to do it, but it’s so _easy_ , next thing he knows, he’s got two tickets to the Red Sox-Yankees game on August first. 

It’s maybe kind of a weird thing to do, but really he’s just proving a point to make Brendan look stupid, and Alex is happy to go to great lengths for that. It’s just—it’s simple, from there, to book a flight for Brendan from Vancouver to Boston, and then one for himself from Montreal, since he wants to be there to see the stupid look on Brendan’s face. 

It’s _so_ simple, Alex just can’t help himself. It’s not his fault Gally needs to dream bigger.

—

Alex doesn’t exactly forget about it; he just kind of puts it out of his mind. There isn’t that much time between the beginning of June and the end of July, not really, but it certainly _feels_ like a long time. Alex is very busy doing… things. Training. Hanging out with family. He doesn’t have unlimited time with which to think about Gally.

He’s hanging out with Anna, half watching TV and half surfing the Internet, when he gets an email from Air Canada about his upcoming flight. He clicks on it, stares at the date, double checks the current date, and then swears loudly. 

“Whoa, what the hell?” Anna asks, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Nothing,” Alex says quickly. He really does _not_ want to tell her about this. 

Anna looks suspicious, and Alex knows he’s fucked even before she says, “No, tell me. You did something stupid, didn’t you.”

Alex sighs. “I might’ve, um, bought tickets for me and Brendan to see the Red Sox play the Yankees? In, uh, like a week.” 

He’s sunk down on the couch, hiding behind his iPad and not looking at her, but he can hear her start snickering. “Why would you do that?”

“He said it was on his bucket list,” Alex mutters, intentionally not mentioning that he learned this from a YouTube video. Anna’s laughter turns uproarious anyway. “It’s a stupid bucket list thing!” Alex says loudly, sitting up and glaring at her. “It was _really easy_ to get these tickets, okay? He could’ve done it by himself anytime!” 

“Yeah,” Anna says in between bouts of laughter, “but _you_ bought them. Does Brendan know you want to take him on a romantic date to fulfill one of his lifelong dreams?” 

“No!” Alex says, protesting the entire statement rather than actually answering the question. “I don’t—”

Anna isn’t listening, just laughing. Alex watches her wipe a literal _tear_ out of her eye and gives up. 

Except now he’s thinking about how Brendan really doesn’t know about this, and oh fuck, what if he already has plans for that day? Fuck, Alex is going to have to tell him about this. Shit. Maybe he can play it off as a spur of the moment thing. Maybe he can say it’s a birthday present—except Gally’s birthday was in, like, May, so probably not. It’s fine, though. Bros do nice things for their bros all the time. This isn’t that weird.

Maybe he won’t really _tell_ Brendan the plan anyway. Alex pulls out his phone and opens WhatsApp, tapping on his conversation with Brendan. The last message is from a few days ago when they’d talked for a bit about some TV show Gally’s been watching, more of a kind of check-in text than any real communication. Alex taps out _do you have any plans for August 1st?_ and sends it before he can overthink it.

Anna has mostly stopped laughing and gone back to watching TV, only giggling slightly every so often. She raises her eyebrows when he glances at her. “Texting lover boy to clear his schedule?” she asks.

“Shut up,” Alex says. Thankfully his phone vibrates so he actually has an excuse to ignore her. Brendan has replied with _…no, why?_

Alex still doesn’t want to explain, so he just replies, _good, don’t make any._

Brendan’s response is even faster this time. _Ok, but why?_

Alex forwards him the confirmation email for the Vancouver to Boston flight and doesn’t respond when Gally texts him a string of question marks a couple minutes later. 

— 

He doesn’t answer when Brendan texts him the next morning asking why they’re going to Boston either. He continues not answering for the entire day, and he ignores any knowing and amused looks Anna might be throwing his way every time he checks his phone. 

“You’re really not going to tell him?” she asks when they’re eating dinner. Alex’s phone has been vibrating incessantly on the table as Brendan sends him variations on _Chuckyyyyyy_ and _pleaseeeeee?_

Alex concentrates on chewing his food and doesn’t bother answering either of them. 

Anna narrows her eyes, then grins. “I see,” she declares. “You’re upping the romance by making it a surprise. Are you gonna get the honeymoon suite, too? Rose petals on the bed and complimentary champagne?” 

“Fuck you,” Alex says, but that _does_ remind him that he needs to book a hotel, so after he’s done eating he gets out his iPad to do so. He picks a nice-looking place not too far from Fenway, scrolls _past_ the options for fancy suites, and just books a normal, two-queen room. 

Then he starts trying to think if he’s missed booking anything else. They’re probably not going to do much more in Boston than the game, but they are definitely going to need to eat. It’ll be really busy downtown because of said game, so Alex should probably make a reservation somewhere, unless they’re just going to eat, like, chicken wings at a sports bar or something. That seems a bit lackluster for something that’s on Gally’s stupid bucket list, though. 

He consults the internet for good restaurants in Boston that are fairly classy, but not so classy that there won’t be good food, and picks one that has good reviews. He calls them to make the reservation, and when he hangs up there’s yet another text from Brendan staring up at him.

_k but WHY BOSTON??? answer meeeee._

Alex regrets his entire life up to this moment. _Don’t you know what a surprise is?_ he sends back.

 _NO i’ve never heard of that_ , is Brendan’s prompt response, followed by, _TELL ME._

 _no_ , Alex sends back, even though he knows it’s fruitless. 

His phone is quiet for a blessed few minutes before he gets a text from Prusty that says _Hey Chucky, what’s August 1?_

Alex snorts. _Nice try_ , he replies.

 _knew even you weren’t that stupid,_ Prusty says. _tell bgally i tried so he’ll stop bothering me_

Alex does, and Brendan responds _DAMN IT_ before going right back to needling him with relentless ‘please’ texts. Alex really doesn’t know how he’s going to survive another week of this. 

— 

At this point, Alex realizes, he's too far in to back out. He might as well just go all-in and make it a memorable trip, in the hopes that Brendan will be too happy to chirp him.

He books his flight to Montreal a few days before the trip to Boston, because he needs a day to sleep it off and then a day to break into Brendan's place. Break into—well, it's not really _breaking in_ when Brendan gave him a spare key.

It's easy to find what he needs; Brendan showed it to him a while ago, like Alex actually cared about this shit. In the back of his closet, in a garment bag because he's a huge nerd—there, his Red Sox jersey. There's something special and expensive about it, Alex is pretty sure, but he wasn't really listening when Brendan told him. Still, Brendan hasn't framed it or anything, it's just hanging in his closet, so probably he would want to wear it.

His phone goes off again while he's locking up after himself. It's Gally, again. He's still peppering Alex with messages, and at this point Alex has just stopped responding entirely in the hope that he'll take the hint and let it drop. That has never worked in the entire history of their friendship, so he's not sure why he thought it was going to work now.

Besides, he should probably actually reply to some of these. They're valid questions. _pack a normal overnight bag and wear something nice on the plane_ , he types, ignoring all of Brendan's ridiculous attempts at guessing ( _White water rafting? Revolutionary war reenactment? JOINING THE BRUINS???_ ).

Brendan texts back immediately, again. This must really be bugging him; he’s not normally so prompt. _something nice? what does that mean?_ Alex laughs, but doesn't respond. _YOU'RE SUCH A JERK_ , Brendan texts a minute later, once the little blue checkmark has appeared indicating Alex has read his message and decided to ignore him again.

 _are you gonna get on the plane?_ Alex texts. He's pretty sure Brendan wouldn't be stubborn enough to deny his curiosity, but—it's worth a check. 

_yeah, but I'm mad at you :(_ , Brendan answers. Alex can live with that.

—

Alex is great at planning, if he says so himself, which he does. His flight into Boston arrives a while before Brendan’s, so he can wait for Gally just past security. 

He waves to get Gally’s attention when he spots him, and he doesn’t miss that Gally is smiling as he strides over and hugs Alex quickly. Alex hugs back, and both of them throw in a lot of friendly back pats. Alex can’t seem to stop grinning, which. He missed Brendan, sure, but not _that_ much. He needs to get a grip. 

Brendan pouts at Alex after they’ve stopped hugging. “What are we _doing_ here?” he asks, and oh God, Alex has to deal with this in person now. 

“Going to check into our hotel,” Alex says. “Come on.”

“Okay,” Brendan says, following Alex, “and _then_?” 

“And then you’ll find out, loser, so shut up.” 

They take a cab to their hotel and Alex checks them in. As soon as they’re in the room, Gally throws his bag on the bed farthest from the door and goes to open the curtains. 

“Wow, what a view,” he says, which means absolutely nothing because it’s what he says in every single hotel room. Alex puts his own bag down and goes to look. 

“It’s a parking lot,” Alex says flatly.

“Indeed it is,” Brendan says. “Now I know what you brought me here for. Who wouldn’t want to fly cross-country to see this?” 

Alex rolls his eyes and hip-checks him out of the way. “I guess you didn’t become less of a douchebag over the summer. Good to know some things never change.”

“Your ugly _face_ didn’t change,” Brendan says. Alex rolls his eyes again. “And if you’re not careful, your expression is gonna get stuck like that, and then where will you be?” 

“Still better looking than you,” Alex shoots back. 

Brendan laughs and pretends to stumble backward as if shot. “Harsh, dude,” he says. “Seriously though, other than secrets becoming your new fave, how’ve you been?” 

Alex shrugs. If he’s honest, he’s spent a lot of time bored and lonely. His mother had even told him he was brooding at one point. But Gally doesn’t need to hear about any of that, so. “Good,” he says. “Seen family, been training. Can’t complain.” 

“Wow, exciting,” Gally teases. 

“Well, what’ve _you_ been doing?” Alex says defensively. “Your summer can’t have been any more exciting than mine.” 

“Seen family, been training, can’t complain,” Brendan parrots back at him, voice high pitched and mocking.

“Ugh,” Alex says plaintively. “I would say I forgot how much you are the worst, but I really didn’t.”

“Aw, been thinking about me, Chucky?” Brendan coos, and Alex is abruptly forced back into thinking about this entire _thing_ that he did because he was thinking about Brendan. Gally seems to know it, too, if the way he bites his lip and raises an eyebrow is any indication. 

“Shut up, no,” Alex says. He can feel how red his face has turned, and he wishes he could stop it. “And we need to go, we have a reservation.” 

“I missed your terrible chirps,” Brendan says, grinning. “We have a reservation? Where?” 

“You’ll see,” Alex tells him. 

“But I want to know _now_ ,” Brendan whines, clearly fully aware of how much of a shit he’s being. 

Alex sighs and resigns himself to a long cab ride to the restaurant.

— 

The cab ride _is_ long, and it’s partially Alex’s fault, because he hadn’t really thought the dumb jersey thing through. He brought it with him so he could give it to Brendan on the ride over to Fenway, but letting him see what it is now would ruin the surprise, so there was an extremely involved game of keepaway in the cab. Alex won, though, because he’s the best. 

Things don’t really improve once they arrive; Alex had made the reservation based on some favorable reviews and not much else, but once they’re actually in the restaurant, it’s—

Brendan whistles, low and fake-impressed, then drapes himself over Alex’s shoulders. “You certainly know how to make a girl feel special, Chucky,” he teases.

Alex wishes for the millionth time that he didn’t blush so much. He didn’t _mean_ to pick a restaurant with—with tiny little intimate tables, real tablecloths, fuck, _candles_ —but he did, and they’re here now. There’s not really a way to recover from this aside from just soldiering on and hoping that Brendan is so distracted by the game later that he forgets all about it. “Shut up,” he says, falling back on an old stalwart, and shrugs Gally off his back. 

Once they’re seated and they get their menus, it just gets worse. They look like somebody hand-wrote them, and they’re all stuff like ‘braised organic pork cheek’ and ‘monkfish liver pate’. Alex keeps his eyes glued to his menu. He already knows he’s never going to live this down.

Then Brendan kicks him in the ankle; not that hard, but hard enough to make him look up in surprise. “Hey,” says Brendan, almost gentle. “I dunno what’s going on in that weird, prickly head of yours, but chill out. Whatever your grand idea here is, it’s dumb and I’m definitely going to laugh at you. So now that you don’t have that to worry about…” He trails off and waggles his eyebrows at Alex. “D’you dare me to order the fish liver?” 

It does help, in a weird way. Alex knows this whole thing is stupid, but also, this is Brendan, the stupidest person he knows. Brendan, who once called their coach at 10 PM to apologize about ‘being late for practice’ because he woke up from a late-evening nap and thought it was morning. Brendan has no room to judge him on anything, ever. “Don’t waste money and food just because you’re not cultured enough to eat anything other than steak and potatoes,” Alex scoffs. 

“If I get the steak you’ll make fun of me for never changing it up, and if I don’t you’ll make fun of me for ordering something just to prove a point,” Brendan complains. 

“Yeah, no matter what I’m gonna laugh at you, so don’t worry about that,” Alex says, copying Brendan’s parrot act from earlier. 

Brendan groans and kicks him in the ankle again, but harder this time. “ _Ugh._ You fly me out to Boston in the middle of the summer, won’t tell me why, and then you make fun of me. This is why we’re not friends, Chuck.” 

—

It’s easier, after that. Harder to bicker quietly enough to not get thrown out of the restaurant, maybe, but Alex has calmed down. Brendan does order the fish liver, and then he makes Alex try it (it’s surprisingly good, if Alex doesn’t think about it while he’s eating it). Alex gets lamb chops, and as they leave the restaurant, Brendan is still teasing him about it.

“Chucky had a little lamb,” he sings tonelessly, then switches to a metal-singer scream, “ _and then he ate it._ ” 

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Alex complains. 

“Not true,” Brendan says. “You took me here. And speaking of, where are we going now?”

Alex, of course, doesn’t answer, just gestures for Brendan to get in the damn cab. Brendan gives him puppy dog eyes, which Alex doesn’t find cute at all, but he does get in the cab. Alex slides in after him and shuts the door.

“Where to, boys?” the driver asks.

Alex briefly considers leaning up to whisper to him, but thinks about the hell of the last cab ride and decides to just give in. “Fenway Park,” he says, looking at Brendan for his reaction.

He’s not disappointed. Brendan sits up straight, eyes almost comically large, and says, “Wait, _what_?” He turns to stare at Alex and repeats, “What? …no. _What_.”

Alex pulls the jersey out of its stupid bag and shoves it at Brendan. “Here, put this on, I guess.”

Brendan stares at the jersey in his hands. “What. No.” He stares for long enough that Alex is about to ask him if he’s forgotten how to put on a jersey when Brendan snaps his head up to look at Alex again. “Did you break into my house and steal this?”

Alex shifts uncomfortably and looks away. “It’s not breaking in if I have a key that you _gave me_.” 

“You _broke_ into my _house_ and _stole my Red Sox jersey_!” Brendan crows. 

“Oh my God,” Alex mutters. 

Brendan finally actually puts the damn jersey on, then spends a good minute staring down at it. “What the fuck,” he mutters. “What the fuck, no. Wait. What the fuck. They’re playing the Yankees, aren’t they.” 

“Yep!” the cab driver chimes in, saving Alex from having to do anything but sit there with burning cheeks. “Fuck the Yankees!”

“Yeah, fuck ‘em!” Gally agrees, nodding vigorously. He looks at Alex again and adds yet another, “ _What._ ” 

Not answering that question has been going pretty well for Alex, so he just continues on with that. He doesn’t have to explain himself. Gally should just take this for the gift that it is and be grateful. Quietly grateful. That’d be great.

Brendan has never been quiet in his life, though, so Alex (and their poor cab driver) have to deal with at least three more litanys involving the words “what” and “no” before they actually reach Fenway. 

“Whaaaaat,” Brendan says as they’re slowing to a halt, face pressed against the glass of the window like he’s trying to see the stadium better. 

“Just get _out,_ ” Alex says, shoving him. Brendan mercifully obeys, and Alex fumbles with his cash to pay the driver. “Sorry about him,” he adds, feeling, not for the first time, guilty about Brendan’s annoying ass.

“It’s cool,” the driver says. “Seems like you got him a surprise he really appreciates. It’s nice to see someone being so thoughtful.” 

Alex had thought there was no way he could flush more red, but it turns out that it is, in fact, entirely possible. He probably resembles an actual tomato at this point. He mumbles an unintelligible thanks and hightails it out of there. 

Brendan is standing on the sidewalk, bouncing impatiently. “Dude,” he says, “Fenway Park! What the hell!”

“Stop it,” Alex says. He wants to say that it’s just a baseball game, but it’s obviously really not, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

“No fuckin’ way, man. _Fenway Park_! And they’re playing the _Yankees_! Fuck!” Brendan half-shouts. Alex has never seen him this excited—it’s like an OT game winning celly, but going on and on and on. 

“There are children around,” he says flatly as he digs the tickets out of his wallet. 

Brendan shrugs. “I learned how to say ‘fuck the Yankees’ at age 5. It’s an important life lesson.” 

Alex raises an eyebrow at him. “I hope nobody ever lets you have kids.”

—

They’re a bit early, but the internet said they should be, so they could walk around and take in the history of the place. Alex really doesn’t care, but he knew Brendan would. Gally peppers him with facts about games from before their parents were born, Alex chirps him about wasting his intelligence on this instead of greater hockey sense… it’s kind of nice. It’s not like Brendan is difficult to please, but Alex still feels good about making him _this_ happy.

They get snacks next—despite the fact that they just ate, Brendan insists on peanuts and cracker jacks, because of the song, but he also buys them both beer (though he chirps Alex relentlessly for being a baby as he does). They have to walk by a merchandise stand on their way to their seats, and even though they’ve got their hands completely full of food, Brendan says, “Dude, you _have_ to get a foam finger.” 

Alex looks at him like he’s trying to set him on fire with his eyes, but unfortunately, Brendan has his number. “Nuh-uh, bro, you flew me across the country to take me to the baseball game of my dreams, and in my dreams you’re wearing a foam finger.” 

Alex buys the foam finger, muttering the entire time about where he’s going to put it after the game (up Brendan’s ass is where). Brendan just looks smug.

Brendan’s teasing drops away once they start showing their tickets to people and being directed lower and lower. “Two aisles over, first row,” says the last usher they see, and Gally’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head. 

“ _First row_? Right behind home plate?! _Chucky_ ,” and he sounds almost touched. Fuck, Alex needs to put a stop to this immediately.

“If I was gonna fly you across the country for this stupid game I wasn’t gonna cheap out and get standing room or something,” he says, like it’s nothing. Because it is. It really wasn’t a big deal. An impulse buy, more than anything. If Brendan could stop acting like Alex has moved mountains for him or something, that would be great.

Brendan’s grinning like an idiot as they tromp down the stairs. “If my hands weren’t full of food right now I would give you the biggest bro hug.” 

“Then thank God we bought so much,” Alex chirps back. “Wouldn’t want to catch your germs.”

—

It’s a good game, too. Alex has never really understood the appeal of baseball, but—tonight he can sort of see it. It’s warm out, there’s a light breeze, the food and beer are good for what they are, and Brendan is vibrating with excitement in the seat next to him. 

The first two innings are scoreless and relatively quick, but then the Red Sox rally at the bottom of the third and get two runs up. Brendan is on his feet and cheering when they score, and Alex is with him, waving his dumb foam finger. The people behind them can stand up too or deal with it, okay, because this is Brendan’s day and Alex isn’t going to let the possible opinions of strangers bother either of them.

Both teams get a run in the fourth, which means Boston’s still got a comfortable lead. In the fifth, Alex checks his texts idly, aware that Brendan is paying too much attention to the game to chirp him for it, when out of the blue Brendan says “ _Fuck!_ ” maybe more loudly than is appropriate at a family-friendly sporting event.

Alex hastily pockets his phone, then glances around for any children. No parents are glaring at them, so they’re probably in the clear. “What happened?” Alex asks, looking at the field—but Brendan is looking at him, a slow, devious smirk spreading over his face. 

“You watched that video, _didn’t you,_ ” says Brendan with complete conviction.

 _Shit_. Alex flushes instantly. “No,” he says automatically, but he doesn’t even try to pretend like he doesn’t know what video Brendan’s talking about or anything—they both know, now.

“You _loser_ ,” says Brendan fondly. He leans over to give Alex a noogie. Alex bats him away with the foam hand, laughing despite his embarrassment.

He’s expecting the chirping to continue once they’re done making fools out of themselves, but Brendan just smiles at him, scrubs his hand over Alex’s head one last time, and flags down a vendor for another couple of beers for them.

—

The Yankees trail the whole game. When the Red Sox get the third out at the top of the ninth, sealing the victory, Brendan jumps out of his seat to cheer and throws his arms around Alex. Alex hugs him back, fiercely, laughing at Gally’s enthusiasm, but—overall, he’s really happy about how the day’s turned out. As far as impulse purchases go, it’s been a good one.

The cab ride back to their hotel is way less insufferable than the other ones today. Brendan still has a refrain for this one, but it’s “Oh my God,” as he recounts particularly exciting bits of the game, like Alex wasn’t sitting next to him the whole time.

“And yeah, whatever, they got a couple of homers, but the Red Sox played better as a _team_ , y’know?” Alex nods, because he doesn’t think he could get a word in edgewise even if he wanted to. “Oh my God, though. That was just _so awesome_.”

—

When they get back to the hotel, Alex barely has time to drop the stupid foam finger before Brendan stops him with a hand on his arm. “Is there anything else?” he says, sounding like he’s only half-joking. “Got some other ridiculous thing up your sleeve?” 

Alex shrugs uncomfortably. “Did I forget something?”

“Forgot to tell me why,” says Brendan. It’s light, teasing, but Alex blushes anyway.

“I don’t—I mean, you know, I saw the video, and I just thought…” He makes a helpless sort of hand gesture, which Brendan seems to understand, because before Alex can start going on about how stupid of a bucket list item that was, he smiles and tugs on Alex’s arm.

“Bring it in, bro,” he says warmly, and then he pulls Alex in for a hug.

It is distinctly not a bro hug. There’s no slapping or hitting of anything, and they don’t separate after a couple seconds; Alex tries to, but Brendan’s arms are locked around him tight, and eventually he relaxes into it and just hugs him back.

Several seconds pass. Alex feels himself blushing darker with every one. Finally, Brendan says against his shoulder, “Typical you, going above and beyond like you think I need to be wooed or somethin’. Most people just send flowers, Chuck. Or, like, call, and use their words, but I know you’re shitty at that in any language…”

Alex doesn’t really hear anything in that sentence after the word ‘wooed’. “ _What,_ ” he says, pulling away more firmly this time.

Brendan lets his arms drop, but he raises both eyebrows at Alex. “You’re in love with me, obviously. Dude, it’s fine, I—”

“What are you _talking about_ ,” says Alex, aghast. That’s definitely not what’s going on here— _in love_ with _Gally_ , that’s—

That’s ridiculous, because the supposed ‘object of his affections’ is currently laughing his ass off, and it sure feels like it’s at Alex’s expense. He’s expecting a “gotcha!”, but instead, Brendan says, “Really, Alex? Oh yeah, because it’s totally bros to fly your friend across the country to take him out to a romantic, fancy dinner and then a trip to a baseball game, all just because you saw him say on YouTube that it was on his bucket list. Completely normal.” 

It’s not like Alex hasn’t been thinking this all day—it’s not like Anna hasn’t been teasing him about this for weeks—but something about the matter-of-fact way Brendan’s saying it makes it all slot into place in his brain. “Shit, I’m in love with you,” Alex says, almost breathless. He sits down on the end of the bed because he’s not sure his feet will support him. 

Brendan is still laughing at him. Alex is really not accustomed to romantic situations, good or bad, involving so much laughter at his expense. “ _Yes,_ ” says Brendan, once he recovers his composure, “that’s what I’ve been _trying_ to tell you.” Brendan sits down on the bed next to him and bumps his shoulder into Alex’s. “And it’s so fine, because me too.” 

That’s actually more surprising than his own feelings. Alex turns sharply to look at Brendan, but he doesn’t look like he’s joking. He’s just smiling, that dumb smile he’s had plastered on since they got to Fenway. “Seriously?” Alex asks anyway, just to check. Brendan’s poker face isn’t usually this good, but—he just has to check.

Brendan rolls his eyes and slugs Alex in the arm, hard enough to bruise. “No, I’m just fucking with you to be an asshole. _Yes_ , seriously.” Alex has a thousand questions, especially _Why didn’t you say anything, then, if you’re so smart_ , but—”Are you gonna kiss me or not, fucker?” Brendan says, and, well.

His questions can wait.


End file.
